Echoes
by DrMagnus1850
Summary: Set between 'School Reunion' and 'Invasion of the Bane.' Sarah Jane begins her life on Bannerman Road, contending with the acquisition of alien technology, an unwelcome telephone call, and a malevolent discovery in a local park.
1. Chapter 1

ECHOES

Sarah Jane Smith prided herself on being a decisive individual. Her finely honed instincts told her what was true, and what was false. An unparalleled moral compass led her on an irrevocable path of righteousness – and on the rare occasion that these intrinsic gifts did not reveal an absolute course of action? Well, that was why she kept an alien supercomputer in her attic.

But certain deliberations (most commonly of a social ilk) continued to escape the clutches of her unfaltering logic.

_"Please, SJ, call me."_ The answer machine bleeped loudly as the message concluded.

Sarah Jane swallowed, sniffing deeply as long buried feelings of betrayal threatened to rear their unwelcome head.

"Sorry, Josh." She whispered. "But I simply can't trust you anymore."

She pushed a large, red button. _"Message erased."_ The automated voice declared.

That was that. Decision made. With a bit of luck, he would never call again.

"Mistress." A new voice echoed through the suddenly hollow hallway – equally automated, but comforting, somehow.

"K-9?"

"Moisture is forming in your eyes, Mistress. Translation; you are, leaking."

Sarah Jane dabbed at her eyes with a sleeve, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm fine, K-9."

The robotic dog stared. It didn't have eyes, but somehow, it gave the distinct impression it was staring. Its crimson tinted optical sensors flashed once.

"Really, K-9, I'm fine!"

A newspaper dropped through the letterbox; she jumped at the sound.

"Oh, this is ridiculous! A ghost from my past, someone I thought was dead, tries to contact me, and suddenly, I'm a bag of nerves."

The robot dog from the future did not respond, and for a long moment, the house was silent.

Number 13 Bannerman Road had been Sarah Jane's home for almost a year, although the precarious towers of cardboard boxes which lined, literally, every room, would make one believe otherwise. The truth was that the ex investigative journalist had grown so accustomed to relocating that she hardly dared to unpack. The 'blast from the past' telephone call had done little to reassure her.

The unnervingly human voice of Sarah Jane's supercomputer broke the silence, drifting admirably from the attic and down two flights of stairs.

"Sarah Jane?"

Impatient as it was, the newest resident to Number 13 _usually_ had something worthwhile to say.

"Yes, Mr. Smith?" Sarah Jane flung open the attic door, a tad breathless and feeling ever so slightly guilty at leaving her faithful, metal dog marooned on the ground floor.

"Sarah Jane. My scanners have detected unusual energy readings coming from the Delta Quadrant."

"Mr. Smith." Sarah Jane sighed. "We have talked about this, remember? Earth does not have a 'Delta Quadrant' any more than Bannerman Road is in the Mirage Nebula. We are in Ealing, please triangulate appropriate maps."

Mr. Smith did so, a map of London appearing on his large, extremely bright screen. The supercomputer was magnificent, but unfortunately it was having trouble adjusting to Earth's comparatively small manner of cartography. Internet inaccuracy and re runs of _Star Trek_ were doing little to rectify this inadequacy.

The screen settled, and Sarah Jane stepped closer, withdrawing burgundy rimmed spectacles from her waistcoat pocket and placed them on her nose.

"Wait a minute. That's near here!"

The alien supercomputer took a moment to reply, during which time a _sigh_ was implied.

"Indeed, Sarah Jane. Approximate time of travel, ten of your Earth minutes, via automobile."

Sarah Jane wasn't listening, the investigative cogs in her conspiratorial mind already churning.

"When did these readings start?"

"I first detected an energy spike about an hour ago; the readings have since dimmed and are maintaining constant, yet distinguishable levels."

"Right." Sarah Jane, guiltily grateful for a distraction from the morning's most unwelcome telephone call, snatched her jacket and handbag from their position – thrust atop a faded chaise lounge. "Time for a little... investigation."

The attic door slammed shut as the journalist darted through it, taking the stairs two at a time.

Sometimes, Mr. Smith mused, he thought that he should never understand the intricacies of human nature. He only hoped that this 'Sarah Jane Smith' was a typical archetype for his study.

The pastel green Nissan Figaro came hurriedly to a stop, jettisoning pieces of gravel into a vivacious shrubbery.

"Okay, K-9. Here we are." Sarah Jane spread her arms wide in a _ta-da_ motion.

The robot dog watched, unimpressed, from the car's passenger seat.

Mr. Smith's readings had lead the slightly odd duo to a wooded area, a small stretch of leafy trees which marked the edges of a long ago 'modernized' park. This small, secluded green strip, was the perfect place to remain away from prying eyes – after all, who would think to look for advanced alien technology in a public park tree line? Unless, of course, one has an alien computer in one's attic to monitor such occurrences.

Midday sun shone high in a cloudless sky, squibs of golden light filtered sporadically through the dense leafage. Sarah Jane pulled her jacket tighter about herself as she climbed out of the car; it was Autumn and, despite the sunlight, it was cold.

Putting thoughts of temperature discomfort from her mind, she glanced about the trees for any sign of unwarranted company. There was none, and, satisfied with the privacy, Sarah Jane flicked the face of her wristwatch upwards, the concealed, miniature screen flashing with ridiculously small digits.

"You know, K-9, as thoughtful as it was for the Doctor to five me this," she wafted the watch as it gathered information, "he did rather fail to take into consideration my... less than Gallifreyan eyesight."

The wristwatch was taking rather a while and, as the minutes drew on, K-9 began to detect signs of his mistress' characteristic impatience. A small receiver sprouted from the centre of his optical sensors.

"Receiving, Mistress."

Sarah Jane spun in momentary surprise.

"Receiving telemetry from your initial scans. Detecting."

The robot dog paused for a moment, then:

"Take five steps, Eastward, Mistress, and look, downward."

Sarah Jane complied, bemused.

"K-9." She huffed. "There's nothing there."

"Downward, Mistress."

The journalist was about to point out that she was, in fact, looking downward, when her wristwatch began 'bleeping' excitedly. She angled it downward, unable to decipher the copious amounts of information now racing across her miniature screen, before it disappeared, replaced with something new. As the 'bleeping' intensified, Sarah Jane sank to a crouch, positioning her wrist as close to the ground as possible.

The screen flashed once, and ceased.

"Oh, you did not just!"

Despite the journalist's protestations, the alien scanner/ wristwatch had overloaded, unable to handle whatever readings it was picking up. Sarah Jane glanced anxiously at K-9; the faithful, robot dog was, admittedly, considerably more robust than her watch but that didn't mean she was willing to take the risk. She had, after all, only just had her loyal companion returned to her. Nevertheless, something powerful was lurking underground and, with undeniable certainty, Sarah Jane knew she could not leave this mystery unsolved. It was a weekday; children were at school and the park was all be deserted. An elderly couple walked their dogs on the far side of the park, but posed no real thread.

"K-9. Stay in the car, but see if you can angle your blaster toward the ground."

An endearing, metallic creak echoed in the trees as a small cylinder protruded from the robot dog's nose, peeking through the car's open window.

"Now, dial it down. We only want to dislodge some of the dirt." Sarah Jane uncapped a lipstick (or what appeared, to the untrained eye, to be a lipstick), hardly daring to breathe. "Fire."

"Affirmative, Mistress."

A weak beam of red light shot from K-9's nose, causing the offending portion of ground to erupt in a cacophony of dirt and gravel.

"Okay. Enough, K-9." The assaulted ceased. "Good dog."

"Gratitude noted, Mistress."

Sarah Jane smiled at the dog's haphazard manner of speech. His tinny voice had been missing from her life for so long she scarcely let herself believe he was back. Her lips tightly sealed, the journalist waded through the cloud of dust, cautiously peering into the newly formed pothole.

"What is that?"

It appeared Sarah Jane's computerised companion was unfamiliar with the rhetoric.

"Optical sensors unable to receive telemetry, Mistress."

What gazed upward from the hole was... odd. A metallic cylinder, perhaps 30cm in length, and reminiscent of a time capsule, was nestled in the dirt. It had a single, transparent window, which winked in the intense sun, baiting Sarah Jane Smith to take a closer look. She did so, lifting it from the ground.

Fire blazed within the capsule. Angry, even vicious emerald flames licked the miniscule window; vengeful and warning, as though Sarah Jane might try to encroach upon their territory. Without realising it, she had raised the enigmatic canister to her eye, peering intrusively into the 'window' with barely 10cm between her optical nerve and the enclosed flames.

Mesmerised as she was by the otherworldly majestic of the impossibly coloured fire, it took the journalist a few moments to process that an eye was gazing back at her. A single, beady green eye winked menacingly. Sarah Jane jumped, suddenly holding the thing at arm's length. The eye disintegrated, returning to its former fireplace style flickering.

In an instant, the flames knitted themselves together once again, the small portion of the fire one could see from the 'window' was, quite suddenly, a mouth. Green lips, green teeth and a tongue of shimmering flames protruding from between in a juvenile display of mockery.

A sudden burst of shrill beeping tore Sarah Jane from her cogitation. She spun, eyes falling upon her faithful robotic dog, whose optical sensors were flashing with deep red light.

"K-9?"

"Systems uncomfortable, Mistress. Cannot explain."

Something was very wrong, and it didn't take Sarah Jane's full investigative capacity to decide it was connected to the fire capsule still nestled in her grip. The fiery mouth had, too, dissipated, but that did not expunge the deeply disturbing image from Sarah Jane's memory.

Placing it carefully back in its hole, she flicked the face of her watch upwards once more. It began to scan the capsule, but within seconds the miniature screen had begun to flicker. The watch was alien, and light years ahead if anything one might find on Earth – it did not 'flicker.'

Sarah Jane felt her blood run cold as virtual, emerald flames licked their way across the flickering screen. Staring at her wrist in disbelief, the journalist gasped as the flames fused, forming, once again, a horridly inhuman mouth, laughing with certifiable malevolence.


	2. Chapter 2

ECHOES – PART 2

She needed Mr. Smith – of that much Sarah Jane was painfully aware. The emerald fire baited her, drawing the journalist toward it. With an unrequited burst of fury, Sarah Jane tore her gaze away, chastising herself for the threat of weakness.

"Mistress." The voice was low, as though the robotic dog's battery were nearly depleted; except K-9 didn't run on 'batteries.'

Sarah Jane threw her faithful companion an agonised glance.

"Mistress... power source, strengthening."

A dull cackle trilled through the autumn air; the _ex_-investigative journalist did not need to turn her gaze upon the capsule to know the fire had reformed into its mocking, exposed tongue.

"Hold on, K-9; I'm going to get you away from here. I promise." Even as she spoke, Sarah Jane could hear the panic in her own voice.

Clearly the malevolent canister of 'alien' fire was having a most dire effect on her watch and, more importantly, her newly repaired canine companion. In other words – it was corrupting technology within its vicinity. A cold dread seeped into her bones at the poignancy of K-9's worlds. _Strengthening_. The fire; this malicious, inexplicable force was getting stronger and, she hardly dared consider, it seemed entirely probable that its 'area of corruption' would spread; out of the tree line... out of the park.

With uncharacteristic fear, Sarah Jane nudged a mound of earth with her foot, showering the canister.

A ridiculously stereotypical emerald light burned beneath, casting squibs of green through the breaks in loose soil.

She needed Mr. Smith, but clearly she couldn't permit this _thing_ within her own walls. The supercomputer aside, her attic was rife with unpacked crates; remnants of alien tech.

_Alien _tech.

A flicker of doubtful hope ignited within her. The scanner watch, K-9, they were both 'alien.' She pulled a mobile telephone from her pocket; nothing about it seemed unusual. Battery, signal; both fine. She flipped it open, the usual image of the night sky greeted her, along with the familiar lack of messages, missed calls – heck, _any_ attempted communication from the outside world.

Sarah Jane swallowed deeply, a begrudging grimace alighting her countenance. If the 'thing' couldn't be moved – and it obviously could not be left unguarded... She could see but one option.

Mr. Smith – sealed neatly within the wall of Sarah Jane's attic, had been monitoring a seemingly inoffensive military satellite. He wondered – to the extent of which artificial intelligence is capable – whether the satellite knew it was being observed by a small fleet of miniature spacecrafts... they were cloaked, rendered invisible to Earth's primitive technology... so probably not.

A telephone icon alit the supercomputer's monitor. He might have jumped – had he not been a super advanced artificial life form and therefore immune to such humanistic eccentricities... or sealed in a wall.

"Yes, Sarah Jane?"

"Mr. Smith?" The journalist's voice was strained, demonstrating a human emotion Mr. Smith had become quite familiar with; concern.

The line was bad, leading the supercomputer to replicate this emotion – he was too advanced for a bad connection. Something; something not of Earthly origin, was toying with his systems.

"Mr. Smith, I need you to do something for me." Sarah Jane's voice was, the supercomputer noted, more concerned than he had realised. Or, for that matter, before witnessed. Perhaps it would be pertinent to make the journalist aware of the apparent alien threat while the phone line was still open.

"Sarah Jane, I believe I should inform you–"

"Yes, yes, whatever. Mr. Smith, I need you to trace recent telephone calls to my landline." She paused, taking an audibly deep breath. "And find the number for a Joshua Townsend."

Mr. Smith might have sighed, had computers had the capacity. He would inform Sarah Jane of the alien threat upon his systems at a later date. "Accessing."

"When you have it, Mr. Smith, dial, and patch through to my mobile. Do. Not. Speak. To. Josh. Understand?"

"I understand, Sarah Jane."

She hung up. Mr. Smith, for whom the requested task took little more effort than it might take an example of the human species to wipe their nose, noticed, with computerised intrigue, that his systems were functioning normally.

"All systems are functioning normally." He declared, mechanised voice resounding through the empty attic.

There was no response. Perhaps, he mused, stating such victories aloud is only worthwhile in the presence of an organic life form.

What this meant, however, was that the alien predicament had attacked him through the telephone line. It was, whether she knew it or not, within Sarah Jane's vicinity.

Mr. Smith located the number for which he was searching, _naturally_, and dialled.

In the time it took for Mr. Smith to acquire the desired number, dial (but not answer, which seemed a direct contradiction of observed human etiquette) and transfer the open line to Sarah Jane's mobile; the increasingly impatient journalist had moved her car some distance from the site of the enigma. At least, she decided, her faithful robot companion should be safer _away_ from the capsule.

Her mobile phone trilled as she walked back toward the offending, imprisoned fire.

Sarah Jane Smith did not consider herself a nervous individual: _'If there's one thing about me,'_ she recalled herself stating during a visit to Romania, _'I don't frighten easily.'_ Why, then, did the preset ringtone strike a note of fear into her heart?

"Hello?"

After what seemed an age, a familiar voice sighed with audible relief.

"SJ, _Sarah_, I didn't think you'd call."

Sarah Jane swallowed hard. _Neither did I._ "Well, I did."

"How are you?"

"Fine." The response was curt; his betrayal, his _lies_ burned viciously in her stomach. At least, the journalist found herself lamenting, a robot dog and an alien supercomputer tell you the truth; even if they were a poor substitute for a human family.

The voice on the other end of the line sighed. This was, apparently, _not_ the reunion he had imagined. "Look, Sarah, you must have some questions. Last time you saw me I... well, I–"

"Died?" She couldn't help herself. "Look, Josh, right now I have other things on my mind than your _glorious resurrection_!" Yes, she wanted answers, very much so. Still, one of the first rules of journalism was to _never_ give the interviewee the illusion of power.

Josh made a sound as though he were about to respond, but she interjected. "Where are you, at the moment?"

"Erm, at home. Why?"

Sarah Jane rolled her eyes; missing the straightforward conversation typical of her mechanical companions.

"And where's _home_, exactly?"

"You know where I live."

She did; after all, the untidy, musty flat had once been a short lived place of refuge. The only place that she could hide out and wait for the surrender of amateur reporters, skulking in the bushes of her temporary abode. It wasn't far, at least. She threw a glance at her car, K-9 barely visible through the windshield. _Hang on_, she pleaded.

"Can you catch a taxi?" She didn't wait for a response. "I need you to come and meet me. I'll give you the address..."

Her Motorola snapped shut; the most uncomfortable telephone conversation of her life, complete. That was one thing she missed about Josh, Sarah mused; no matter the time of day, the weather, the reason, he was _always_ there. Loyal.

"Except that he wasn't." She spoke, to nobody in particular.

He would be with her in under an hour. That still left far too much time for cogitation; too much time to stoke the anger brewing within her.

Sarah Jane Smith was successful in many respects. Her career, her financial situation; even her maintenance of the Doctor's legacy. Yet friends were few and far between. Business acquaintances had dissolved along with her reputation. And as for romance... _Pfft_. Josh had been a good friend when she needed one the most; nothing more, and nothing less. She had, more than once, jestingly referred to him as her 'guardian angel.'

Too late, the troubled journalist had learned that was exactly what he was. A guardian, assigned to her by a maniacal cult, convinced _she_ was some sort of alien herald. There was considerable blood on his hands; and every drop had been spilled in her name.

Joshua Richard Townsend served as an unwelcome reminder of a particularly dark period in her life. She could hardly help but be nervous by his... reappearance.


	3. Chapter 3

ECHOES – PART 3

Joshua Townsend liked to give the impression of nonchalance. Verging on his late twenties, Josh outright refused to sever the long cultivated ponytail; he avoided attire which bore the logo of anything but preapproved grunge musicians, and – during the extensive time he spent unemployed – he enjoyed watching reruns of _The Scooby-Doo Show_ religiously.

In short, Josh cared little for the opinion the world held of him. With one exception.

And there she was. The breath caught in his throat as Sarah Jane Smith ambled into his line of vision.

Dropping a handful of change into the grubby palm of a disgruntled taxi driver, Josh lurched from the vehicle, taking advantage of a nearby tree line to gather his nerves. Of course, she was yet to notice _him_. An expanse of deserted grass between them, Josh had made quite sure to conceal his lanky form in shrubbery until he was ready for this... reunion.

Time might very well have stood still for Sarah Jane. Even at this distance, Josh could tell she had hardly aged; her hair was a touch lighter, perhaps, and her choice of attire a little less austere. He found himself wondering whether she bore the same, golden aeroplane brooch, pinned to her grey mac... and as always, when he thought of Sarah Jane, he was filled with a deep sense of regret.

The object of his observation checked her wristwatch, shaking her head and stepping toward a parked car. Josh felt a smile creep over his unshaven face; yup, she was just the same. Hell, her choice of vehicle was testament of that; what was it with Sarah Jane Smith and vintage automobiles?!

Taking a deep breath, Josh dragged a clenched fist over his mouth, ensuring any residue of his _Heinz_ breakfast was well and truly scrubbed away. He smoothed the front of his chosen hooded sweatshirt, and prepared himself to confront the only person _in the world_ whose approval held any value for him.

He stepped from the tree line, making his way a few metres into the open before she saw him. He slowed, their eyes meeting in shared disbelief; before she turned away. Josh detected the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders, as Sarah Jane took a breath, steeling herself. Readying, he thought, her stalwart wall of independence. Her wall of ice.

He had come so far since Feltham. Arson had become a thing of his past; the amateur cultivation of anarchic values a distant memory of misguided youth. Josh might not care much for the law, and even less for the rest of the world, but he cared about _her_.

He _loved_ her; that was the truth of the matter.

_Not_, in the sense implied – more than once – by a certain loquacious tree hugger. He loved Sarah Jane as a partner in crime; a _sensei_, as Jackie Chan might have put it. The only person who had ever believed in him, who had given worth to his isolated life. His best friend.

He stopped a metre away, Sarah Jane having turned to face him. Her eyes were hard, unprepared to betray what emotion might be lurking beneath the surface. Her lips were pursed in a tight line, as though she didn't trust herself to part them. Her fist was clenched, knuckles white, around something... something which resembled a _lipstick_?

But a few months had elapsed since the infamous Doctor had ambled back into Sarah Jane's life; since the pair of old friends had happened upon one another, each doing what they did best... investigating. Still, she found herself struggling more now, facing Josh, than she had the Doctor. After all, she had thought her one time sidekick was dead.

He _was_ dead!

"You look well." He mumbled the first thing he could think up. It was true, at least, though Sarah Jane mightn't feel as much.

The journalist swallowed, forcing her own bitterness to quieten; he was here because she needed him, pure and simple. Something bigger than her wounded pride was on the line here, and such a thing as _emotion_ simply could not be permitted to stand in the way.

"Thank you for coming." She felt like she was conducting an interview _– and what skills do you have, Mr. Townsend, beside resurrection?_

She walked away, toward the poorly concealed substance, "over here."

Josh followed, his hands clenched awkwardly in the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. No pleasantries... No _'how have you been?'_ No; straight down to business. Josh bit down hard on his lip: he had hurt her, he had ruined the one friendship that mattered, all for a father who had left him to die.

"Josh?"

She had been speaking to him... and he hadn't been listening. At least some things were the same. Shaking his head and mumbling indecipherably, Joshua Townsend followed the direction of his friend's gesture... and muttered an expletive.

"What in the name of the _Exemplar Cras_, is that!?"

_Thank you so much to everyone who has read, followed, and especially reviewed this story!_

_I apologise for the delay between chapters; I hope to continue writing, but I fear school work is taking priority at the moment. Still, I hope you all continue to enjoy, and please review if you feel thus inclined._

_DrMagnus1850_

_'Remember, life on the Earth can be an adventure too.'_


	4. Chapter 4

ECHOES – PART FOUR

'SJ... Sarah, I'm sorry.' Josh slapped a sweaty palm into his forehead. How could he have been so stupid? 'I didn't think... I–'

They locked eyes; his thoughtless words hung awkwardly between them. This was it; Josh thought, fighting not to tear his gaze away. This is the part where she tells you where you can go...

Sarah Jane blinked, the words _Exemplar Cras_, unuttered for so long, sounded... strange. Make that strang_er_. The corners of her lips began to twitch, and against her better judgement, she felt herself begin to laugh.

_Exemplar Cras_... _Book of Tomorrows_... Whatever the bloody thing was they should have called it the _Major Cliche_ and been done with it!?

Josh looked nervous, like he wasn't sure whether he should join in with her laughter or be afraid of it.

_Good_. Sarah Jane thought. _He deserves a little fear in his life_. After all, it was nothing compared to the shock he had given her, coming back from the dead and all that.

Squibs of emerald light had broken through the earth, casting an eerie kaleidoscope as the capsule yearned and begged for its freedom. She had to move it, and she needed Josh's help. But first, she had to _explain_ it to him... And that meant telling him the truth.

'SJ?' He managed, dabbing his hand at the corners of his mouth. Good lord, that hair needed a wash! 'Are you alright?'

There was green light shining from the ground, but all had done was throw it a passing glance before turning his attention back to her. She might have been touched, if she weren't so bitter.

Sarah Jane pulled herself together. She was getting too old for insecurity – she had had too much pain and betrayal already in her life. Whatever the world threw at her next, she could handle it. 'Okay Josh. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you, are going to answer them. Truthfully. Got it?'

His pale skin flushed a bright red. 'Got it.'

'Do you believe in aliens?'

And then the colour drained from it... 'You what?'

'Do you...' She raised her voice a little, 'believe in aliens? Yes or no?'

'No.' The journalist arched an eyebrow, and Josh faltered, eyes falling back to the glowing earth. 'Okay, yes, but I don't see what that- '

'Daleks?' She barked.

'What are you- '

'Sontarans?'

'SJ, I don't- '

'The Doctor?'

He froze, mouth aghast. 'What did you say?'

Sarah Jane felt her heart skip a beat. 'The Doctor.' A threat of sadness bubbled in her chest, the way it always did when she remembered her old friend; her old life. 'You've heard of him.'

Silence hung awkwardly between them as Josh struggled to find the words. He had heard of this _doctor_ but never in a million years had he imagined him to be more than a work of fiction.

Josh took a deep, ragged breath. 'My dad is – _was_ – the leader of the White Chapter. He talked about someone, some_thing_ that called itself the doctor. He said it was an alien; the worst of them all.'

Sarah's breath caught in her throat, and when she spoke, she could barely heard her own words. 'He was wrong.'

Josh snorted. 'Yeah, well, he also said that rolled around the galaxy in a telephone box, so...'

'Police box, and I meant his perspective. The Doctor travels between world protecting them. _Defending_ them against alien invasion. Sometimes, he lets people travel with him... People like me.'

For a moment, Sarah Jane Smith swore she could hear the _screech_ of the TARDIS; the wailing siren that for a few, magnificent years, had marked the start of so many adventures.

Then laughter filled her ears, and she looked up to see Josh covering his mouth with a hand, his cheeks flushed quite red. 'Come off it, Sarah. Isn't this all a bit _Red Dwarf_?'

'This isn't some TV programme!' She thundered. 'This is my life!' At least it had been, once.


End file.
